


Skin Deep

by RonnieSilverlake



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (sort of), Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29410173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake/pseuds/RonnieSilverlake
Summary: When Connor turns Gavin down for an evening spent together, and he lies about his reasoning, Gavin knows something is up.(Written for the Hurt/Comfort February challenge. Prompt 8: disabled skin projection)
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51
Collections: D:BH Hurt/Comfort Extravaganza (Feb. 2021)





	Skin Deep

**[Connor——10:12]** I’m not coming over tonight.

**[Gavin——10:13]** i noticed. what’s up?

**[Connor——10:13]** Nothing serious. I just need a longer rest cycle than anticipated.

Gavin frowns at his cell phone. He’s been with Connor long enough to smell the bullshit. Not that Connor has ever been a great liar, but considering the animosity they started out with, it was still a learning curve for Gavin to find out his tells. And for Connor to let him in enough to not want to lie anymore, about anything.

Usually.

Gavin isn’t sure what’s different this time, and part of him feels bad for making the assumption, when he’s gotten plenty of evidence to the contrary—it’s not like he has any reason to _mistrust_ Connor, not now—but there’s still that gut feeling that something is wrong.

**[Gavin——10:22]** you’re not mad at me for something idk about, right?

**[Connor——10:22]** Don’t be ridiculous, of course not.

With a sigh, Gavin drops his phone onto the couch, deciding to let the matter rest. Even if he feels weird about this—and not just because of the pang of disappointment in the pit of his stomach, the part that lurches when he thinks about how much he was looking forward to tonight—he does trust Connor. He wants to push, but he knows it’s his own obstinate self he has to convince here, not Connor.

The rest of his evening suddenly devoid of any plans, the detective picks a book from his shelf, curling up against the throw pillows in his living room, soon to be crowded by both his cats and his dog.

Up until his phone pings again, making him frown slightly.

**[Hank——11:01]** think you should come over

That weird feeling in Gavin’s stomach begins to sink.

**[Hank——11:01]** fowler called me in and connor shouldn’t be alone imo

**[Gavin——11:03]** omw.

He both loves and hates that Hank didn’t elaborate. The worry of not knowing is terrible, the worst, but his hands are still steady enough on the steering wheel, so it’s probably for the best.

The house is dark when he arrives less than twenty minutes later. He guesses this means Hank has already left for work; unsurprising, considering he got called in at ass o’clock, so it must have been important.

Gavin leans on the doorbell obnoxiously, his stomach doing little flips. He nearly falls right over the threshold when the door swings open, and he stumbles half a step backwards as he lets go of the wall, squinting into the darkness of the hallway where Connor is standing in the shadows.

“Thank you for coming,” the android says quietly, and Gavin’s frown deepens a little, even as he feels a wave of relief wash over him.

“Thought you’d protest about it,” he says, trying to keep his tone light even as the worry pooling around his insides begins to squeeze him harder. “Hank convinced you otherwise?”

“No, it’s just…” Connor falls silent for a moment, stepping back to allow Gavin inside. As the door swings shut behind him, the room falls into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of Connor’s LED through the fabric of the hoodie he’s wearing. “I probably shouldn’t have cancelled on you anyway. I’m glad you’re here.”

He sounds earnest, and Gavin manages not to startle when he feels the other’s fingers brush against the back of his hand, asking silent permission to lace their fingers together. Gavin meets him halfway without hesitation, slotting his fingers into the spaces between Connor’s, tugging him a step closer with it.

“Come with me.”

Connor pulls Gavin with himself, and Gavin doesn’t resist. He is led to the couch in the living room, still in complete darkness, where Connor drops down into the corner unceremoniously, and as soon as Gavin follows suit, wraps himself around him, the hood obscuring most of his face as he presses it into the crook of Gavin’s neck.

Gavin isn’t quite sure how to handle this. Anxiety ties his stomach into knots; he’s been good at keeping it at bay until now, but Connor’s obvious unwillingness to voice what’s wrong amplifies it tenfold, making it rise in his chest to begin choking him in earnest. Nevertheless, he wraps an arm around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him close, letting the silence stretch until the other decides to break it—or until something in him finally gives. He has no idea which will happen first.

Connor curls against him more. A fine tremor runs across his chassis as his fingers bunch up the fabric of Gavin’s shirt. “Tighter,” he murmurs, barely audible. It takes Gavin a moment to understand, but once he does, he follows without protest, turning a little to pull Connor properly to himself, both arms winding around his shoulders, wrapping him up completely, securely.

“You gonna tell—”

“In a bit.”

Gavin swallows. He dips his head down with a small sigh, his cheek pressing against the top of Connor’s head. The hoodie’s fabric is soft, and it smells nice, but what he really wants is Connor’s hair.

As he raises a hand to reach under the hood, Connor catches his wrist with lightning speed, making the breath get stuck in Gavin’s chest with the surprise of it.

“Sorry,” Connor says, his voice small. “I—I’m sorry.”

Gavin is at the end of his patience. “Connor, what the _fuck_ is going on?!”

“I—well—… Okay,” Connor says, pulling back from Gavin. “Okay.”

Before Gavin can ask again, he pushes the hood back, revealing his face—or rather, the absence of it, with his skin overlay and hair fully gone, only the white chassis remaining.

After a moment’s pause, in which Gavin looks his fill, he says, “… Okay?” He reaches out again, and this time, Connor doesn’t stop him. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then changes his mind halfway through as Gavin’s palm slots against his face, thumb running a gentle circle beneath his eye.

“It’s a virus,” Connor says in a low voice. “My systems got infected when I interfaced with the personal computer of a suspect. It’s nothing major; my self-repair is taking care of cleansing it—it just takes time.” He sounds frustrated, nearly desperate.

Connor’s skin feels very similar to human skin; his chassis, however, has a feel of smooth plastic, slightly cool against Gavin’s fingers. In an effort to finally figure this out, he takes a stab in the dark and says, “You know I don’t give a shit, right? I mean—if you wanna know if I still think of you the same way, or—…”

Connor shakes his head, eyes still closed. “It’s not that.” He sighs. “I just hate not being in control.”

Gavin can’t help the smirk. “Yeah, I know that.”

Against his will, Connor lets out a snort. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Right now?”

Connor laughs as he presses himself to Gavin again, and it’s music to Gavin’s ears. “You’re an asshole.”

Gavin has no desire to refute this. Instead, smiling, he bends down to find Connor’s temple with his lips, pressing a smattering of kisses against it until Connor gets the hint and turns his head enough for their lips to meet.

Connor hums into the kiss after a few moments, his gaze contemplative as they break apart. “Did you mean it?” he asks. “That you look at me the same way.”

“Of course,” Gavin says without an ounce of hesitation. The smile he gets in return—warm, nearly sheepish—sweeps away the last fragments of his anxiety, leaving only warmth behind as it spreads in his chest.

“Yeah?” Connor asks, his smile shifting a little, and so does he as one of his hands finds its way into Gavin’s lap. “Willing to prove that?”

“… Right now?” Gavin repeats, this time slightly incredulous instead of teasing. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to—but maybe Hank’s couch isn’t the best place for…

“Yes.”

Okay, well. Gavin looks at Connor again, takes in the entire sight of him, the lines where his plating meets or overlaps, the open eagerness he can still convey with his gaze even with less facial expression at his disposal. “It _would_ be good to take my mind off of everything,” he suggests with a huff, uncertainty slowly beginning to seep into his voice.

Gavin pulls him into another kiss before he can overthink it.

Connor is going to be just fine.


End file.
